Keys of love (1790)/The wounded farmer's son

The WOUNDED FARMER’S SON.

To its own proper Tune.

DRAW near each loyal lover,
To you I will discover,
My grief I cannot smother,
I'm bound in love-sick chains,
For Cupid has ensnar’d me,
His cruel dart's deceiv'd me;
And the title that he gave me,
Is the wounded Farmer's Son.

How fatal was the morning,
When first I saw my darling,
Amongst the nymphs so charming,
Down by a myrtle grove,
While the birds they join'd in chorus,
Their harmony melodious,
The bleating lambs a-sporting,
To please the maid I love.

I said my lovely creature,
The sweetest work of nature,
She's sweat in every feature,
My darling's all divine.
Her sparkling eyes adorning,
Like twinkling stars in morning,
When Phœbus first gave warning,
His beauteous beams do shine.

Could I obtain her favour,
Who's won my heart for ever,
But in vain I fear my labour,
She being a Lady born.
But my birth it would degrade her,
But yet I'm bound to love her,
Because she is so clever,
I am but a farmer's son.

As the swain was thus complaining,
His darling was concealed,
Into a shady bower,
Near to a myrtle grove,
Where Cupid's bow and quiver,
It made her heart to shiver,
And like a wounded lover,
These words to him she said.

How can I thus be cruel,
To you my dearst jewel,
I love you above all measure,
Since that my heart you've won.
There's gold and silver bright,
For you my heart's delight,
And before to-morrow's night,
I'll embrace my Farmer’s Son.